


Reflection

by Bemused_Writer



Series: Mad Medicine [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Other, Vague Multifaceted Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bemused_Writer/pseuds/Bemused_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A study on the Master's psychosis. The Master considers the Doctor, losing, and how there are still some triumphs left to be had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

**Disclaimer** : I do not own _Doctor Who_.

* * *

“He’s my responsibility.”

That had been a rueful day for the Master; not only had he lost (again) but he was also chained to his arch nemesis, the Doctor.

Even worse, the drumming had decided it would pound away at his skull with even more voracity than usual ever since the Doctor had dragged him aboard his TARDIS. It had been four days now according to the TARDIS’s monitors and the Master had yet to say a word. He could see how the Doctor would glance at him, his concern obviously growing—and what right did he have to be concerned over the man who had tormented him anyway?—but he had yet to say anything.

The Master was honestly impressed with just how quiet the Doctor was managing to be. But not grateful. So far they hadn’t gone anywhere in particular; the Doctor had sent the TARDIS on autopilot so they were spiraling all across the universe without a single destination. The Master figured the Doctor didn’t want any civilizations giving him ideas. The Master found this laughable. He was a genius with an incredible imagination; he didn’t need inspiration to come up with something.

Granted, he wasn’t actually planning anything at the moment. He’d had his fun and the Doctor had managed to spoil it (again—he really needed to stop ruminating over this fact). Really, the Doctor should have been showing a little gratitude to him in his opinion. Not only did he let the Doctor live, he showed him just how brilliant he really was; he shared all his triumphs with the Doctor. It wasn’t his fault those triumphs happened to be the Doctor’s failures; that was just icing on the cake. And the Doctor should really appreciate that too.

Oh, those blasted drums were pounding away making it difficult to focus again. Was he still upset with the Doctor? More than likely. Had the Doctor done anything interesting since he’d imprisoned him? Probably not. No wonder he was always trying to take over the universe. The Doctor was terribly dull when he wasn’t saving people.

The Master let his head fall against the wall of the TARDIS. The Doctor had untied him after his second day of obedience and silence but the Master hadn’t bothered moving much.

He considered looking through the TARDIS but the Doctor would undoubtedly take that as an invitation for conversation. The Master thought about this for a second. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He could remind the Doctor of all the people who had suffered because of him. That brought a thin smile to his face.

It took a few seconds for him to register the Doctor kneeling before him.

“Master,” this brought a full grin to the Master’s face; he did love hearing the Doctor say his name. There was a certain resonance when he said it full of despair and love. Well, the Master figured that’s what it must be. Despair he was fairly familiar with. He’d experienced it quite a bit himself. But love, well, the Master couldn’t say. The Doctor was certainly very lovely when he wasn’t ruining the Master’s plans though.

Ah, he’d got sidetracked again; the Doctor was saying something.

“You haven’t said anything in days, you haven’t _moved_ in days. I know you’re upset but you need to talk to me. I need to help you.” There was that despair in full force. The Doctor wanted someone to care for and the Master was, unfortunately, the one the Doctor had decided to cling to.

“Let me in your mind. Maybe I can help with the drums; I know they’ve been bothering you.” His eyes were so intense. Sometimes the Master thought the Doctor was every bit as violent as him only he tried to tear people down through kindness rather than cruelty. The contradiction and hypocrisy was simply appalling.

“Oh, Doctor,” he said softly, “I know you want to. You always want to “help.” Can’t you just savor one victory over me? I’m here, stuck with you, forever. Can’t that be enough?”

“It’s not about winning or losing; why can’t you see that?” Oh, now he was getting angry. This was turning out to be more entertaining than he had originally thought it would. The Doctor paced back and forth a few times, running his hand through his hair so it stood on end before swooping down and sitting next to him.

“Let me help.”

The Master turned to face him. With the utmost care he cupped the Doctor’s cheek and brought their foreheads together. Very quietly he whispered, “No.”

Watching the Doctor close his eyes in agony was perfect. Neither of them moved from their somewhat intimate position.

The Master didn’t mind. He would have to interact with the Doctor more often if this was the response. Somewhere deep down he felt a little sorry for his fellow Time Lord but he brushed that aside with ease. It hadn’t always been easy but with this regeneration he seemed to be more unstable than usual. He couldn’t help but have a detached fascination with his own warped psyche; he truly did the most terrible things and it was _wonderful._

But the Doctor had won over him (again— _damn it_ ) and the Master figured he should pay some respect to the current victor. Besides, refusing the Doctor’s help probably caused the man more agony than imprisoning him had so things were looking up.

“I’ll tell you what,” the Master said, “I’ll be your willing companion from now on. But you can never help me. Not ever. What do you say?”

“You know I can’t agree to that.” The Doctor finally pulled away. He looked heartbroken.

“I know. That’s what I like about you, Doctor,” the Master cried loudly, jumping to his feet after being still for days, “you stick to your guns! Oh, but you hate those, don’t you? Well, it’s all figurative anyway. Well then! What will you do now? It would seem we are at an impasse. You can’t help me, Doctor.” His voice suddenly lowered. “Not even if I wanted you to.”

And with that the Master left the console room and strolled down the hall to see what he could find around the TARDIS. After a little while he heard the Doctor following him. The Master smirked. Undoubtedly the Doctor was analyzing their entire exchange in an attempt to see if there was anything deeper in what the Master had said. The Master would be interested in hearing the Doctor’s diagnosis.

For even he had a hard time deciphering some of the things he said. A second opinion would be welcome.

_“My heart feels dead inside_

_It's cold and hard and petrified_

_Lock the doors and close the blinds_

_We're going for a ride.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics at the end of this piece are from "I Can't Decide" by the Scissor Sisters. The Master sings it in "Last of the Time Lords." One of the tags I used for this story was Doctor/Master but probably the most accurate tag for this story, and the one I'm using to define the characters, is "Vague Multifaceted Relationship." 
> 
> This will be part of a series covering the Master and the Doctor traveling with one another. It's not a new idea but hopefully there's room for one more of these!


End file.
